An Unexpected Encounter
by SeanFlynnZoey101
Summary: Two years ago, 22 year old detective Chase Matthews nearly threw away his career when he fell for Zoey Brooks. Then 21 years old, Zoey Brooks was the star witness in his case against Satan Kuyper , the man who brutally murdered her parents right in front of her. Despite their mutual passion, Chase broke his relationship with Zoey. Now, Satan Kuyper has escaped from prison...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer- I don't own Zoey 101 or anything really**

 **An Unexpected Encounter...**

* * *

Chase Matthews was having a very bad day. So bad, in fact, that he was contemplating walking away from the monstrous case file on his desk, ducking out of the police station and spending a good week on his living room couch with his dog, Rocky. Lord, he needed a vacation.

But as Superintendent Trainer liked to remind the men and women on the force, crime didn't take a vacation.

Neither did the sadistic serial killer currently roaming the streets of Chicago and preying on innocent women.

"So, do you want the good news first, or the bad?"

Chase glanced up as his fellow detective and closest friend, Michael Barrett, strode into the office they shared. Most of the other detectives worked out of the bull pen, as Chase had done for most of his now 3 years on the force, but last year Trainer had bestowed the two men with an office after they cracked open a quadruple homicide case that had stumped nearly every cop in the department. The office was cramped and badly lit, but it gave Chase a quiet place to think, and he didn't mind sharing with Michael.

Chase focused on his partner's question, immediately sensing his day was officially going to sink down to Much Worse on his How Bad Can My Day Get? list. So far he'd cleaned up his dog's vomit (poor Rocky had a stomach bug), been spat on by a prostitute he'd brought in for questioning, and then found a two-inch-thick stack of reports he needed to comb through on his desk.

From the look on Michael's face, he got the feeling hooker spit and dog puke might be the least of his problems.

"Good news." Chase sighed, raking his hand through his now Short-Black hair.

"Trainer called in the Feds,". Michael said as he walked over to his desk and flopped down on the edge.

Chase's head jerked up. "For the Spine Killer case?"

"Yep."

"Well, thank God. It's about time he called the FBI for help." While most cops tended to get twitchy and antagonistic when the Feds burst into their jurisdiction, Chase only felt relief. They'd been getting nowhere with the Spine Killer case for months now, banging their heads against the wall and being rewarded with nothing but headaches.

"A task force is being set up," his partner added. "The chief wants both of us on it." Michael paused, a frown creasing his mouth. "But I have a feeling you won't be."

"What the hell are you talking about? I've been living and breathing this case for months."

"Yeah, but you haven't heard the bad news yet."

Wariness climbed up his throat. "All right, hit me."

"Satan Kuyper escaped from prison last night."

The impact of Michael's words hit Chase like a bowling ball to the gut. Just hearing that name—Satan Kuyper—brought a rush of memories to his brain. The ugly sneer on Kuyper's face when Chase had slapped the cuffs on his wrists. The barely veiled hatred on the killer's face at the sentencing hearing, the way had slowly turned his head to focus that hate-filled glare on…

Zoey Brooks. And there it was, another name he'd tried desperately not to think about for seven long years. Not that he'd succeeded. He'd thought about the beautiful dirty blonde headed far too often, usually late at night, when the memory of the forbidden kiss they'd shared woke him from sleep. The dreams were no longer as frequent, but they still came, often enough that he wondered if someone was torturing him.

Zoey had only been 21 when her parents were killed. When Chase, a twenty-two year-old beginner detective, who was now ahead of the agency, due to his great, professional work, had broken every rule in the book and fallen for his star witness.

Chase swallowed and asked, "How did he escape?"

"It was impressive, actually. Got his hands on some pills, induced a seizure, bad enough that the prison had him airlifted to Chicago General, where he swiftly killed a doctor, a nurse and two guards. Then he pulled a Houdini and disappeared."

Chase swore under his breath, then frowned when Michael pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of his sports coat and handed it over. "What's this?" he said warily.

"The address of the Zoey Brooks studio. Do you want to tell her, or should I?" Michael asked.

Chase's heart did an involuntary flip at the notion of seeing her again. He should probably tell Michael to go, let Michael break the news that the killer who'd sworn revenge against her was roaming the streets. Really, Michael should do it. No reason for Chase to unearth long-buried desires and troubling emotions and—

"I'll tell her."


	2. Chapter 2

"Um. Okay. So that's...pretty."

Zoey Brooks shot her agent a wry look, then pushed a wayward strand of hair from her forehead with the slender paintbrush in her hand. "No need to lie, Jess. I know it's pretty messed up."

Jessica Martin was Zoey's art dealer and the owner of Martin Avenue, the gallery where Zoey often showed her work. As a dealer, Jess was shrewd, professional and blunt to a fault. As a friend, she was far too nice. Taking a few steps back, Jess examined the 30"x30" canvas resting on Zoey's easel. "I'm going to be honest, kiddo. I don't get it."

Zoey stared absently at the slash of color in front of her, sharp red lines and jagged black brushstrokes that formed together to create...a sword? Knife, maybe? "I don't get it either," she admitted. "And don't worry, this piece isn't going to be in the show." Rising from her stool, she set her brush next to the palette on the table and turned to the older woman. "I woke up this morning and this image was in my head. I'm still not sure what it means."

Jess worried her bottom lip with her straight white teeth, the lines around her mouth crinkling. "Did you dream it?"

"No." She swallowed. "No. You know I don't dream anymore."

And thank God for that. She'd always had vivid dreams as a kid, but after her parents' murder, those dreams of rainbows and brilliant landscapes had morphed into dark scenes of violence and gruesome images. Two years she'd endured the nightmares, until finally they stopped, along with the beautiful dreams of the past. If she dreamed now, she didn't remember anything in the morning.

It was a lot easier getting through the day when you weren't reminded of death on a nightly basis.

"Good," Jess said, then bent down to pick up the briefcase she'd left on the hardwood floor of Zoey's studio. "Call me when you finish up those last pieces. We've already reached capacity for your opening. Contemporary collectors were lining up to score an invite."

"That's nice." Again, her gaze restlessly drifted back to her painting, her mind trying to make sense of what it saw.

"All right, so I've got to head out. I'm meeting with a buyer this afternoon," Jess said.

"Mmm-hmm."

The other woman chuckled. "Okay. I see you've snapped back into artist mode. Guess I was lucky to pull you out of it for ten minutes. I'll talk to you at the end of the week, kiddo."

Zoey barely noticed her dealer's departure. She stared at the canvas, frowning deeply. What the hell did it mean? The sharp lines were a huge contrast from her typical work, which usually consisted of bright abstracts and the occasional portrait, if the subject was interesting enough. So why this? Why black and red and, really, a sword? Why?

The answers to those questions eluded her, replaced with the need to finish the piece. Maybe the final product would give her a clue.

She was just sinking back onto the stool when the sound of footsteps filled the large loft. Without turning around, she reached for her brush and said, "What'd you forget this time, Jess?"

There was a beat of silence, followed by the sound of someone clearing their throat. A male clearing his throat. And then two gruff words: "Hey, Zoey."

The oxygen drained sharply from her lungs, her fingers froze on the paintbrush. Almost immediately, her heart took off in a sprint. Oh God. Was it actually...

Slowly, she turned, wide eyes taking in the sight of him. The wide doorway framed his tall, lean body, and his hands were awkwardly stuffed in the pockets of his faded blue jeans. He'd always worn jeans on the job. Those sexy jeans and a button-down shirt that never hid the ripple of muscles beneath it.

He cleared his throat again and took a step closer. "Hey," he repeated. "I, uh, I needed to speak to you."

Feeling like her legs had turned to cement, she managed to get up. Her hands shook wildly, and her heart...why couldn't it stop pounding?

Um, maybe because the love of your life is standing five feet away? You know, the man you haven't seen in two years? The one you still ache for every damn night?

Yeah, that was probably why.

Swallowing hard, she moved toward him, pausing when they were only a few feet away. She faltered, trying to think of something to say, something that sounded sophisticated and professional and didn't reveal how badly she missed him despite the two years they'd spent apart. Something that didn't make her sound pathetic, or bitter, or angry.

So she opened her mouth, and what came out was, "Hi, Chase. You look tired."


	3. Chapter 3

_Holy hell. That's all she was capable of coming up with? Hi, Chase, you look tired?_

Zoey's cheeks grew warm, going even hotter when the corners of Chase's Matthews mouth curved into the familiar wry grin that had always melted her insides. But she hadn't been lying. He did look tired. His hair was still the same shade of black, his eyes still a piercing green, his face had the smoothness of youth, replaced with some small stubble of beard showing on his chin and below his upper lip

 _Still, he was as gorgeous as ever._

"How've you been, Zoey?" he asked softly.

"I'm good." Though she'd probably be a lot better if he wasn't acting like they were strangers. "What about you?"

"You pretty much called it. I'm tired," he said, shrugging ruefully.

His husky voice sent a flurry of shivers up her spine. God, she missed that voice. When she was 21 years old, that voice was the only thing that helped her survive her parents' death. Chase's visits to her college dorm had gotten her through those long, empty days. She'd been orphaned, alone and about to testify against a killer. Other teenage girls might've cracked under the pressure. Thanks to Chase, Zoey had lived through it.

She met his gaze, impulsively searching those green eyes for a sign that he was remembering their time together, too. That he was thinking about the long heart–to–hearts, the comfortable silences…the explosive kiss they'd shared.

But his eyes were shuttered, the expression on his face all business.

"I've been working on the Stain Killer case," he added, weariness filling his features. "To no avail, of course."

Zoey sensed his frustration, and knew where it came from. For months, women in Chicago had been taking extra precautions, determined not to become the next victim of the killer who apparently liked to carve roses into their skins. Having had some firsthand experience with a vicious killer, Zoey understood the urgency Chase felt to catch the monster.

He was good at that. He'd fought her monster, after all.

"Still no new leads in the case?" she asked, hoping he didn't hear the wobble to her voice.

"None." He sighed. "But we brought in the FBI, so hopefully that will change soon."

She awkwardly played with the hem of her paint–spattered work shirt. "Is that why you came, to tell me about the Stain Killer case?"

Chase shook his head.

Then why are you here? she wanted to shout. And how could he be so calm, standing in front of her like the six months they'd had together hadn't existed. Like she hadn't told him she loved him.

Like he hadn't whipped her heart right back in her face and walked away from her.

Funny thing was, she didn't even hate him for it. She'd understood his reasons for leaving, even back then. She'd been his star witness. It had been his first case working as the lead detective; her involvement in the case could have cost him his job. His only choice had been to end it before it even began.

What she didn't understand, however, was why he'd never come back. A year, they could have reconnected then. After all Kuyper was behind bars.

So why hadn't he come back for her? And why was he here now?

Probably not questions that needed to be asked now, mere minutes into this strange reunion. And fortunately, Chase spoke again before she could blurt out the inappropriate question anyway.

"I'm here about Kuyper" he said roughly.

Her head snapped to attention. "He's not up for parole, is he? Because that's ridiculous! He got two life sentences, there's no way they would parole him after two ye—"

"He escaped from prison last night."

Zoey released a gasp. "What?"

"He escaped. And we know he's in the city." Chase's green eyes darkened. "And, Zoey, it's safe to say he's going to be coming straight for you so he can—"

"Finish the job," she whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

Goddamn, but she was the most beautiful woman on the planet. Chase wasn't one to wax poetic, but when he looked at Zoey, all he could think was that her naturally red lips looked as sweet as ripe cherries, and her long semi-curly blonde hair resembled yellow satin, and her petite curvy body could make a centerfold weep with jealousy. She was Helen of Troy and Aphrodite and—

And he needed to get away from her. As soon as possible.

"That's what he wants, right?" Zoey said, her sapphire brown eyes filling with panic. "To kill me, the way he believes my dad killed his daughter."

"Unless his need for vengeance disappeared sometime in the last 2 years," Chase said, his flat tone revealing his thoughts on the matter.

Twain Kuyper had not lost his thirst for revenge, Chase would bet his life on that. The man's hatred for Max Brooks had run too deep. Zoey's father had been the surgeon who'd operated on Kuyper's daughter Delia's after she'd been badly injured in a car accident. Brooks had given Kuyper hope before the surgery, but not until they'd opened Delia up had they seen the extent of the damage. Nearly every organ in Delia Twain's body had been crushed. She died on the table.

The death of one's thirteen–year–old daughter would tear up any man, but for Kuyper, the heartache hadn't ended there. His wife committed suicide two months later, and the man simply snapped. Apparently he'd always had a history of mental illness, but the deaths of his wife and daughter had promptly driven him over the edge, and so he'd turned his grief–turned–hatred onto the man who'd promised to save his daughter and failed.

"He killed my parents," Zoey murmured. "An eye for an eye, that's what he said in court, remember? But they weren't his only target. He wanted me dead."

And the only reason she was still alive was because of last–minute dinner plans with her girlfriends. Even years after the fact, Chase still thanked God that Zoey hadn't been killed that night. But she had arrived home in time to see Kuyper fleeing through the front door, a gun in his hand. She'd been in a car full of friends, which was probably the only reason Kuyper had jumped into his own car and sped off without taking a shot at her.

"Well, he's not going to finish the job," Chase said gruffly. He shoved his hands back in his pockets, mainly because his arms tingled with the urge to hold the woman in front of him. Hold her, and comfort her, and kiss her senseless.

Control yourself, Matthews, Nothing's changed.

Yep, that was true, wasn't it? Nothing had changed. Sure, Zoey was twenty– three now, no longer a grieving daughter. But those weren't the only reasons he'd walked away from her all those years ago.

Truth was, even then she'd been too good for him.

"We're going to keep you safe," he said.

Zoey shook her head. "If you're talking protective custody, a safe house somewhere, I can't do it. I've got two weeks to finish three paintings for my upcoming show."

For the first time since walking into the studio, Chase allowed himself to look around and what he saw stole his breath. Man, she was talented. Canvases filled the large loft, hanging on the walls, stacked up, sitting on easels. Each painting displayed bursts of color, fascinating abstract landscapes, random splashes of paint, some portraits that showed she was skilled in more than just abstraction. Her work was beautiful.

She was beautiful.

And, as usual, stubborn as hell.

"Is a show more important than your own safety?" he said, hearing the testiness in his voice.

"Of course not, but I'm not going to hide away like a scared rabbit." Her delicate chin lifted in resolve. "I lived in fear of this man once already. I won't do it again."

Despite himself, he wanted to smile. This was the Zoey he remembered. Strong. Fearless. Charging into battle instead of running away. Her strength had awed him when he'd first met her. Not many other teenagers would have possessed the courage to sit in the same courtroom as a killer and finger him as the man who'd murdered her parents. Any of the other girls in the car that night could have identified Kuyper in court, but Zoey had insisted she needed to testify.

The day she'd stepped into the courtroom, he'd been so proud of her, his chest had almost burst.

"I figured you'd say that," he said wryly. "Which is why I've arranged for a bodyguard and put two patrols outside your house. Until Kuyper is caught, the guard is going to be your shadow. Wherever you go, he goes."

Zoey looked as though she was about to nod in agreement, then glanced at him sharply, an indefinable flicker in her Brown eyes. She studied him for a moment, as if weighing something in her mind, like a potential buyer appraising a new car.

Finally, she said, "No."

Chase didn't bother hiding his surprise. "No to what?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, an action that drew her dark green shirt tighter over her delectable breasts. He swallowed and averted his eyes.

"No to the bodyguard," she elaborated.

A sigh lodged in his chest. "Are you serious? There's a good chance Kuyper will come after you. You can't be left unprotected."

"Who said I'll be unprotected?" she answered with a faint smile.

Wariness climbed up his throat. Oh, boy. Why did he have a feeling he knew exactly where this was going?

"Zoey—" he started.

"You," she cut in. "I want you to protect me, Chase. And I won't settle for anyone else."


	5. Chapter 5

Evidently, she was a huge masochist. Maybe pathetic, too, because she was willing to beg if that's what it came down to. This man had broken her heart, and yet…yet, she would hand it right back to him if he asked. Truth was, there was no one she wanted more than Chase Matthews. God knows she'd tried exorcising him from her heart, she really had. In the past two years she'd gone out on dates, even had a year-long relationship with an artist she'd met at one of her openings.

But none of those men had compared to Chase, not even Marco her artist. Her entire life she'd longed for a relationship like her parents had—a combination of love and passion, a best friend and a lover. Comfortable warmth and searing heat.

She'd had that with Chase. In the six months he'd been in her life, she'd had a glimpse of what true love actually was.

She'd always wondered, if she saw him again, would she still feel the same? Well, she had her answer now. She still loved him. And maybe if she convinced him to spend just a little bit of time with her, she could make him see that loving her back wouldn't be so bad.

Masochistic and pathetic…that was her, all right.

"I can't be your bodyguard," Chase finally said, his voice coming out gruff.

Zoey raised one eyebrow. "Why not?"

"I'm working on another case."

"I thought you said the FBI was called. With all the manpower those guys bring with them, Chief Trainer isn't going to need every detective on the force to work the case."

His mouth creased in a frown. God, she'd always loved that mouth, the sensual curve of his bottom lip, the lopsided tilt of his grin. She could've stared at that mouth for hours, and she had, during all those long talks they'd had when she was twenty one

"Why me?" Chase said with a sigh. "The guard I arranged for can do the job as well as I can."

She met his gaze. "I want someone I can trust."

"You can trust Nathan—"

"But you know Kuyper," she cut in. "And I know you want to see him caught as much as I do. Which means you'll work harder to keep me safe. You once told me that the only thing that matters to you is keeping me safe."

Something in his green eyes softened. "And I meant it. That's all I ever wanted for you, Zoey. To make sure nobody could ever hurt you." To her shock, his voice suddenly cracked as he added, "Including myself."

Her breath caught in her throat. For the first time since he'd shown up here at the studio, there was genuine emotion in his tone. A chord of sorrow. A note of tenderness. And she couldn't be certain, but had that been a flicker of longing in his eyes?

Swallowing, she murmured, "You could never hurt me, Chase."

"But I did. I hurt you when I left," he said flatly. Rather than averting his eyes, he stared at her pointedly, as if daring her to contradict him.

"Yes, it hurt," she admitted, instinctively squaring her shoulders, a combative gesture she always made when she was forced to admit vulnerability.

He flinched. "I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. So now make it up to me. Protect me from Kuyper, Chase."

A heavy silence fell over the studio. Chase dropped his hands from his pockets. He glanced around the studio for a moment, as if the canvases strewn across the room would help him make up his mind. And then his gaze landed on her current piece, the black-and-red sword/knife in the middle of the canvas.

Finally he looked back at her and said, "All right."

A balloon of hope rose in her chest. "You'll do it?"

He let out a ragged breath. "Do I really have any other choice?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised," Michael remarked the next day, leaning against the door frame as he watched Chase collect a stack of files from his desk. "I knew you'd be off the Spine Killer case the second I heard about Kuyper's escape."

"I'm that predictable?" Chase said drily.

"When it comes to her, yeah."

The note of disapproval in his partner's voice made him glance up from the papers he was shuffling through. "What, you going to get on my case again?" Chase grumbled. "Because you did a good job of that 2 years ago."

Michael crossed his arms tightly over his stocky chest. " You had no business getting romantically involved with her."

"We didn't get romantically involved," he answered through clenched teeth.

Was emotionally involved the same as romantically involved? he wondered.

Yes, the voice in his head said with certainty.

Fine, so he'd harbored romantic feelings toward Zoey back then, feelings that had culminated into one mind-blowing kiss. But he hadn't allowed it to go any further. After Kuyper's sentencing he'd ended it, and he didn't regret the decision to walk away. She'd just lost her parents, for Pete's sake—the last thing Zoey had needed in her life was a man with enough baggage to fill an airport.

"You fell in love with her," Michael countered.

He ignored the remark, tucked his case files under his arm and strode toward the door. "Trainer gave me a few weeks to leave," he called over his shoulder. "See you when I get back."

Without waiting for a response, he stepped into the fluorescent–lit corridor and left the station. Winston was waiting in the narrow front hall when Chase unlocked the door to his small downtown apartment. He dropped the files on the credenza and bent down to pet the golden Lab whining with excitement at his feet.

"Hey, buddy," he greeted the wiggling dog. He rubbed behind Rocky's ears, and was rewarded by a slobbery lick to the face. "You're going to have to calm down when we get to Zoey's. Can't have you driving your new roommate crazy with that unbridled enthusiasm."

Rocky yipped, then rolled onto his back, legs sticking up in the air as he waited for a belly rub.

Chase obliged, all the while wondering why it was so damn easy to please an animal when he couldn't seem to do anything right for the humans in his life. The officers on the force loved him, patted him on the back and called him a hero each time he put a murderer behind bars, but the women he'd dated? His own family? Those relationships were nonexistent.

He wasn't one for self–pity, but he was well aware of his flaws. He was a workaholic. He had commitment issues. Oh, and the kicker—he had wife–abuser blood running through his veins. A total head case, that's what he was.

He didn't deserve a woman like Zoey. Hadn't deserved her then, and didn't deserve her now.

With a sigh, he rose to his feet. "Come on, Roc, let's go pack up your stuff. We need to report for bodyguard duty."

Satan Kuyper yanked on the brim of his Black Hawks cap as he approached the FedEx counter, holding the short–but–sweet letter he'd penned in his left hand. The woman behind the counter greeted him with a smile and asked, "Hello, sir, what can I do for you today?"

Using a Southern drawl, which he'd perfected after listening to his Georgia–born cellmate drone on for hours upon hours, he said, "I need to send this by courier, ma'am, with a guarantee that it will arrive by the end of the day."

Another big, fake smile. "I can take care of that."

The clerk barely glanced at him as she got an envelope and told him which boxes he needed to fill out. He scribbled away, making sure his handwriting was near unintelligible, paid for the delivery in cash and hightailed it out of there.

Outside, he breathed in the late–spring air, glancing at the pedestrians bustling past him on the street. A woman smiled at him as she walked by, and he wondered if that smile would still be on her face if she knew who he was. What he was. An escaped convict.

Bitterness coiled in his gut, wrapping around his intestines like an angry cobra. Prison. Even now, 2 years after the sentencing, he couldn't believe he'd been sent to prison—and why? For killing his daughter's murderer?

That bastard Brooks had deserved to die. After what he'd done to Delia, death was even too good a punishment. But Kuyper had taken care of that.

But you forgot one, the raspy voice in his head murmured.

"Oh, I didn't forget," he muttered back.

A passing businessman shot him a funny look, and, realizing he really ought to remain inconspicuous, Kuyper quit talking to himself and headed toward the car he'd hot–wired the night he'd escaped from the hospital. Another handy skill he'd learned from his cellmate.

Driving out of the city, Kuyper glanced at the clock on the dash. Ten–thirty in the morning. The clerk from FedEx had assured him the letter would arrive before 6:00 p.m. He would have liked to be there when the girl opened the letter, when she realized her destiny as she read those two short sentences.

An eye for an eye, the voice said gleefully.

Kuyper nodded. "She deserves to die."

The child needs to pay for the father's sins. Don't screw it up this time.

"I didn't screw up before," he said angrily, slamming on the brakes as he reached a red light. "I couldn't get to her before. She was with friends."

You chickened out. You let Delia down.

Kuyper rubbed his temples, which were beginning to pound with pain and irritation. "Shut up," he ordered. "Shut the hell up and let me do my job."

The voice said nothing, but he could hear the faint echo of mocking laughter in his head.

"She'll die," he mumbled to himself. "Just like her murdering father and her weak, pathetic mother."

That's right, the voice agreed, making a reappearance. Zoey Brooks will die.


	7. Chapter 7

Chase showed up in the afternoon, finally putting an end to the anticipation Zoey had been experiencing since the moment he'd left her studio the day before. Last night she'd kept busy, working on one of the paintings for her upcoming show. She'd also attempted to keep herself occupied this morning, even inviting the officer Chase had stationed outside her house in for a cup of coffee. But no amount of activity could distract her from the notion that Chase was officially back in her life.

And now here he was, in her kitchen, after she'd given him a quick tour of the house. She'd felt a spark of pleasure when he complimented her home. She'd bought the small Victorian a year ago, determined to fix it up on her own. The price had been a steal, thanks to the renovations that needed to be done. But Zoey didn't mind the grunt work. Having lived in the bustle of Chicago's downtown area almost all her life, Zoey had been excited to move to the sleepy suburbs, and she especially liked the gorgeous ravine that stretched out behind the backyards of the houses on her street.

Her body warmed as Chase glanced around the huge, country–style kitchen, admiring the bright yellow walls. "Did you paint it yourself?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm planning on doing a mural in here, but I haven't decided what to paint yet."

A furry body brushed against her leg, and she bent down to pet Chase's golden–haired Lab. Chase had a dog. She still found that little tidbit surprising. He'd always been so reserved. Definitely not the kind of man she pictured lavishing attention on an overexcited pet like Rocky.

"He likes you," Chase remarked, an odd note in his voice.

She glanced up. "Is that a bad thing?"

His throat worked as he swallowed. "Of course not. It's good, seeing as we'll be staying with you for a while."

And didn't he just look thrilled about it. A spark of irritation lit up inside her. Ever since he got here, Chase had been treating her like a random stranger he'd been hired to protect. Like the six months they'd had together had meant nothing to him. Like the kiss they'd shared hadn't happened. Like—

"Did you even miss me?" she found herself blurting out.

Instantly, her cheeks heated up, making her wish she could take back the spontaneous question.

But to her surprise, her words elicited the first glimmer of emotion she'd seen in his eyes since he'd knocked on her door. Chase's green eyes softened, flickering with unmistakable sadness.

"Yes," he said hoarsely.

Zoey slowly got to her feet, her steps hesitant as she eliminated the distance between them. She paused when they were only a foot away, searching those gorgeous eyes of his, wanting so badly to throw her arms around him. This was the only man she'd ever opened herself up to. The only man who'd ever made her feel…happy. And shockingly, he'd done it at a time when happiness had been in very short supply.

"Yes?" she echoed, pressing her shaky hands to her sides.

He swallowed again, his apple bobbing in his strong, corded throat. "I missed you."

Zoey's heart did a little somersault. "You could have called."

He shook his head. "That would have been the worst thing I could've done, Zoey."

She had no idea what to say to that, so instead she pushed away the pang of pain and said, "I missed you, too. I missed talking with you, and…being with you. I miss it now." Her throat tightened. "I'm glad you're here, Chase."

Regret filled his gaze. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"I'm only here to protect you. I don't want you to read anything more into it."

Zoey bristled, but before she could respond, the doorbell chimed. Chase's shoulders instantly stiffened, his right hand reaching for the gun holstered at his hip. As Rocky began to bark and scurried for the front door, Zoey shot her protector a wry look. "I hardly think Kuyper would ring the doorbell."

She moved for the doorway, but Chase intercepted her. His hand circled her bare arm, sending waves of heat shooting through her body. "I go first," he said gruffly.

Following him to the front hall, Zoey waited by the coat closet and watched as Chase opened the door, holding his gun loosely behind his back. She craned her neck to sneak a peek, and spotted a skinny guy with a FedEx envelope standing on her porch.

"Zoey Brooks?" the courier asked.

"No, but I can sign for it," Chase said. A moment later, he closed the door and turned to face her, holding out the envelope. "Expecting something?"

She slowly shook her head and accepted the envelope. As she tore it open, the image of her latest painting suddenly filled her brain, and an ominous rush of dread washed over her. The hairs at the back of her neck stood up, tingling, as she removed a single sheet of paper from the envelope.

Zoey stared at the words scrawled on the page. She felt all the color seep out of her face, and then the paper fell out of her hands. As it fluttered down to the hardwood floor, she closed her eyes and whispered, "Oh, God."


	8. Chapter 8

Dread seizing his throat, Chase bent down to retrieve the slip of paper Zoey had dropped. He held the sheet by one corner, trying to preserve the evidence. Not that it mattered. Zoey's fingerprints were all over the damn thing.

He read the two sentences written there, as anger slowly coiled in his gut.

A daughter for a daughter. See you soon, Zoey.

Well. Looked like Kuyper had made his first move. The bastard clearly intended to terrify Zoey with this note. Before he killed her.

Chase's throat tightened as he glanced at Zoey's pale face. Her hands were still shaking, her straight white teeth worrying her lush bottom lip. His anger escalated. She'd already been through enough, damn it. Losing her parents. Facing their murderer. She didn't deserve any more pain or fear in her life.

Before he could stop himself, he stepped toward her and pulled her into his arms.

Zoey gave a small gasp, then sank into the embrace, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Chase's pulse quickened at the feel of that petite warm body pressed against his.

"I won't let him hurt you," he murmured, holding her so tight he feared he'd break her in half.

The intoxicating aroma of her drifted up to his nose. Her strawberry–scented shampoo. Her sweet feminine scent, honey and flowers and pure heaven.

God, he'd missed holding her like this.

Zoey tilted her head to meet his eyes, her lips inches from his, and Chase nearly keeled over with desire. He'd never wanted a woman the way he yearned for Zoey.

"Chase…" Her soft voice trailed off, but the uncertainty in her Brown eyes was obvious. So was the longing.

With a strangled groan, he lowered his head and captured her mouth with his. Kuyper's message, now crumpled up in a ball in Chase's hand, fell to the floor again, but he barely gave it a second's thought. As usual, when it came to Zoey, his job flew right out of his mind.

Her lips were so soft against his, so warm and sweet. And her tongue…Lord, her tongue was in his mouth, flicking against his own, sending a streak of hot pleasure.

She sighed with pleasure, one hand stroking the nape of his neck, the other running through his hair as she kissed him back with enough passion to make him forget his own name.

What the hell was he doing?

He stumbled back, his breath coming out ragged, his pulse still drumming wildly in his ears.

Zoey looked startled by his abrupt movement, and then a spark of disappointment lit her eyes. "Chase…" Yet again her voice drifted.

Chase sucked in some much–needed oxygen, waiting until his heartbeat went back to normal. Then he raked his fingers through his hair and released his breath. "Damn it," he finally muttered. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes flashed. "Why is it that you always apologize after kissing me?"

"I've only kissed you once before," he said gruffly.

"Yeah, and you apologized then, too."

"Because it was a mistake then." He avoided her irritated gaze. "And—"

"Let me guess," she said bitterly. "And it was a mistake now?"

"Yes."


	9. Chapter 9

Zoey didn't know whether to slap Chase right on his cheek, or beg him to kiss her again. In the end, she decided to do neither.

Instead, she simply gave up.

Yep, gave up. Definitely not two words she'd ever expected to find in her vocabulary, but damn it, what else was she supposed to do? She couldn't fight him anymore. Couldn't keep opening her heart up only to have him tell her what a mistake the two of them were.

"I think…" She swallowed the lump of agony in the back of her throat before attempting to speak again. "I think you're right."

Surprise flickered in Chase's green eyes. "I am?"

Zoey blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. "This is a mistake. Not just the kiss, but…" Her gaze landed on the crumpled piece of paper lying on the floor by their feet, the sadistic message from the man who'd killed her parents. "I shouldn't have asked you to guard me. I…I can't be around you, Chase"

The second she said the words, a crash of thunder echoed from outside the house, followed by the sound of rain slapping against the front porch. It was almost as if the weather was protesting her decision, voicing its disapproval. But to hell with it. She was done chasing after this man.

A note of sorrow entered his voice. "Zoey—"

"No, don't bother with another apology." Bitterness climbed up her spine, weighing down on her shoulders. God, she was so pathetic. Back then, at least she'd had her age as an excuse. Twenty- one year-old girl all starry-eyed over her older, attractive savior. But now? She was twenty-three. Old enough to know better than to throw herself at a man who obviously wasn't interested.

Her chest aching, she turned away from him, discreetly wiping at the lone tear that had slid down her cheek.

"Make the call," she murmured, keeping her back to him.

"What call?" he said warily.

"The bodyguard you hired. Call him, get him to come back."

It hurt like hell, saying the words, officially letting Chase go, but she had no other choice. Maybe it was a good thing he'd come back into her life, even for such a brief time. At least now she could put the past to rest, and finally accept that she and Chase Matthews would never be together. Say goodbye to silly girlhood fantasies and look for a man who actually wanted to be in her life.

The tears suddenly fell in earnest, making her feel ashamed. Damn it, she would not cry over this man again. Swiping at her cheeks, she abruptly moved to the front door, mumbling, "I need to be alone for a minute."

"It's raining," Chase protested as she reached for the door handle.

"I like the rain," she murmured back, then hurried out the door.

…

Chase stood frozen in the front hall, shocked by what had just happened. The mind–blowing kiss. Zoey's sudden turnaround, telling him to call another bodyguard. He could hardly wrap his mind around it, and the ache in his chest didn't help. He wished things could be different, that he was different. But he'd never been good at relationships. He always managed to hurt the women in his life and, damn it, he didn't want to hurt Zoey. That was the reason he'd kept his distance from her, then and now.

And yet he'd hurt her. Then and now.

He lingered in the hall for a long moment, until he heard another loud roll of thunder.

What the hell was he thinking, letting her go out there alone when there was a killer on the loose?! Some freaking bodyguard he was.

He'd barely taken two steps toward the door when he heard a faint scream slice through the rain.

Blood draining from his face, he threw open the door and ran outside.


	10. Chapter 10

Fear pummeled into him like angry fists as he spotted Zoey lying at the foot of the porch steps. Chase ran toward her, instantly sinking to the wet grass and cupping her face with his hands. "Where are you hurt?" he said frantically.

A streak of gold flashed in his peripheral vision, and suddenly Rocky was beside him, shoving his wet nose against Zoey's shoulder. Chase pushed the dog away and repeated his question. "Where are you hurt?"

"It's my—"

Not letting her finish, he ran his hands up and down her body, searching for the wound. "Were you shot? Was it Kuyper?" he choked out. "Damn it, Zoey, where are you hurt?"

Her hand curled over his wrist, nails digging into his skin. "For Pete's sake, Chase, calm down!" she snapped. "It's my ankle. I slipped on the last step and fell."

Relief smashed into him. "You fell," he echoed dully.

"Yes. Now can we go inside before this rain washes both of us away?"

For the first time since he'd come outside in a panic, he noticed the downpour rushing from the sky. Zoey was soaked, her blonde hair matted against her forehead as raindrops rolled down her cheeks.

"Let me help you up," he sighed, reaching for her arm.

She pushed away his hand. "I'm fine. I can get up on my own."

He wanted to lift her into his arms and carry her into the house, but the determined set of her jaw told him she'd hit him before letting him touch her. With another sigh, he stood up and crossed his arms, letting the cold rain wash over him.

"All right, get up."

He saw her features crease with pain as she slowly got to her feet. Mud streaked across her faded blue jeans, and he almost smiled at the sight of her disheveled appearance. The smile never came, though, as he watched her take one step forward before crumpling like a rag doll.

He caught her before she fell, and held her steady. "Now can I help you up?"

Her eyes darkened before taking on a resigned light. "Yes."

Without another word, he placed a hand on her back, grasped her round bottom with the other and scooped her into his arms.

To her credit, she didn't protest the entire time as he carried her into the house, kicked off his muddy shoes and took her into the living room.

He gently put her down on the plump beige sofa, then sat next to her and stared at the wet Blondhead, wanting so badly to kiss her again.

"Which ankle?" he asked quietly.

She sighed. "The left one. But it doesn't hurt that much."

Irked by her continued insistence to pretend she was okay, he rolled up the hem of her pant leg and examined her ankle. It didn't seem bad at first, not until he glanced at her other leg and saw the enormous difference. Her left ankle had swollen up to twice the size of her right one, and a nasty blue bruise already began to dot her skin.

He stifled a groan. "Let me see if it's broken."

"It's not—"

He didn't let her finish as he lowered his hand to her leg. He gently ran his fingers over her tender skin, applying pressure against the bone. She winced, but didn't make a sound. That was Zoey all right, strong as hell.

After he'd examined her ankle, he met her gaze. "I think it's just a sprain."

Triumph lit her eyes. "See, I told you. I'm fine. Now go call the other bodyguard."

His heart squeezed. He hated that she was so determined to see him leave. But he knew she was right. Staying was not a good idea. They'd only been together a couple of hours and he'd ended up kissing her. Who knew what would happen if he stayed even longer?

But what would happen if he left? If that bastard Kuyper managed to get his hands on her?

Chase couldn't bring himself to get up, the notion of calling someone else to protect Zoey sending a knot of pain to his gut. He swept his gaze over her, studying the two smudges of mud on her cheeks, her soaked clothing, disheveled hair—and he decided he'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

He also decided that for the moment, he wasn't going anywhere.

"I'll call Nathan in the morning," Chase said, squaring his shoulders in resolve.

Zoey glanced at him in surprise. "You're going to spend the night?"

"Yes, and don't bother arguing. Until Kuyper is caught, you're in danger, which means no arguments about your safety." He rose from the couch, his jaw tight, and lifted her back into his arms.

"Where are you taking me?" she squeaked.

"Upstairs."

"Why?"

"You're covered in mud," he said roughly. "I'm going to run a bath for you."


	11. Chapter 11

Chase stepped into the upstairs bathroom, releasing a long breath. Damn it, he was crazy for not walking away. But he couldn't leave Zoey. Not now, when her parents' murderer was roaming the streets. And besides, she was injured.

Yeah, her sprained ankle is the reason you're sticking around, his conscience taunted.

He ignored the voice, and focused on drawing a bath for Zoey. His breath hitched as he pictured Zoey lying in the hot water, her soft, naked body slick from the water, her wet hair curling at the ends. When he found a bottle of bubble bath in the cupboard under the sink, all he could think about was how those white, sparkling bubbles would look against Zoey's body. When he smelled the fruity aroma of those bubbles, all he could imagine was nuzzling his head in the crook of her neck and breathing in her sweet scent.

"It's ready." He entered the bedroom, where he'd deposited Zoey on the queen-size mahogany bed.

He helped her up and led her to the bathroom. Zoey hesitated in the doorway. "I think I'll fall over if I try taking these clothes off myself." Her voice sounded small and embarrassed to his ears.

Cotton lined every inch of his throat. She wanted him to undress her? He wasn't sure he'd be able to resist touching her if he started taking off her clothes. But when he saw how she struggled to balance herself on one leg, he realized he had no other choice.

Chase took a deep breath and then, with surprisingly steady hands, he reached for the button of her jeans. Fighting every urge telling him to devour her body, he focused on removing the jeans, which only deepened his hunger. Her soft hand held his shoulder as she wiggled one leg out of the wet denim, then the other. The lacy white panties she wore were so damn appealing, he nearly came apart just looking at her.

"Chase."

"Yes?" he said thickly.

"I'm sorry if this is making you uncomfortable."

Uncomfortable? Oh, he was uncomfortable, all right. More than she'd ever know.

"It's fine." He cleared his throat. "Turn around."

He gripped the hem of her shirt and tugged it upward, all the while knowing Zoey was perfectly capable of doing this part herself. She'd hurt her ankle, not her arms, yet Chase couldn't stop himself from taking off the rest of her clothes. She didn't protest, or try to take over, and the soft hitch of her breath told him she enjoyed this slow undressing as much as he did.

Chase couldn't tear his gaze off her, as his brain swam in a pool of satin and lace. The bra she wore held her high breasts lovingly, and creamy-white skin swelled over each cup. The cotton in his mouth thickened until he could barely get out a breath.

He reached for the clasp of her bra and slowly unhooked it, willing his body to relax. Dropping the lacy bra on the tiled floor, he reached for the waistband of her panties, took a deep breath and pushed the garment down her legs.

His heart slammed against his ribs, bruising each and every one, as he encountered the most delicious feminine behind. Her firm, rosy bottom made his blood buzz in his ears and his pulse race.

"Get in the tub," he barked, hoping that once she disappeared into that mound of bubbles, so would his need for her.

He held on to her arm as she raised a foot into the tub, then forced himself to turn away as she sank into the warm water. When he looked back, she was hidden in the bubbles, but his need was still there. Like a forest fire refusing to burn out.

"Call me when you're ready to get out," he muttered, making for the door.

Her husky voice stopped him from leaving. "No. I want you to stay."


	12. Chapter 12

It was extremely hard to breathe. And not because her ankle hurt like hell. In fact, Zoey barely noticed the pain. She was far more focused on the gorgeous man standing in her bathroom. She'd had plenty of fantasies about Chase over the years, a few of them involving this very same bathtub, yet those fantasies didn't compare to the real thing.

As she sank lower into the water, she thought about the decision she'd made before walking out into the rain. The decision to give up on him. It had seemed like such a good idea…

Then again, she hadn't been naked at the time.

Now, with her clothes strewn on the bathroom floor and Chase's big, sexy body lingering in the doorway, giving up was the last thing she felt like doing.

"Please," she added softly, when Chase still hadn't responded to her request that he stay. She shifted in the water, causing a wave of bubbles to wet her neck. "I'd really like the company."

He took a step toward the door. "I can't."

"Why?"

"If I stay in here a second longer, I'm going to kiss you again."

Her breath hitched. "Then kiss me."

Her quiet statement made him freeze. Zoey stared at his back, the stiff set of his shoulders. She wished she could see his eyes, even though she was pretty sure what she'd find there. Regret. Reluctance.

"Chase" She spoke firmly. "Can you turn around so we can talk about this once and for all?"

Slowly, he did as she asked, his green eyes flickering with…yep, regret and reluctance. Shocker. Releasing a breath, he crossed the tiled floor and leaned against the wall next to the tub. His gaze fixed on her face, not once lowering to her bubble-covered body.

"There isn't anything to talk about," he finally said.

"Really? Because I'd like to know why you kissed me earlier."

She saw him gulp. "It was a—"

"Mistake," she supplied. "Yeah, I know that already. Why did you do it then?"

He was quiet for so long she feared he wouldn't answer. But then he spoke. "Because I wanted to," he said roughly.

Zoey couldn't help but laugh. "Wow. Such an uncomplicated answer from a very complicated man."

A wry flicker filled his eyes. "I'm not that complicated."

The laugh turned into a snort. "Yeah, right. You're a walking complication, Chase Matthews." She reached up to brush a wet tendril off her forehead. "When you left… What you said after the sentencing hearing. It was more than my reputation wasn't it? You had other reasons for not wanting me."

"Not wanting a relationship," he corrected. His eyes softened. "It was never about not wanting you. Honey. Never."

Her heart skipped at the endearment. He'd never called her Honey before. She liked it…no, damn it, she loved it.

"And you still feel that way now?" Zoey swallowed. "You still don't want a relationship?"

Pain creased his features, and he ran one hand through his soft black hair. "I'm no good at relationships," he admitted softly. "I…shut down whenever things get serious. I always have, probably because of my dad."

"Your dad?" she echoed quietly.

He nodded. "The man pretty much screwed me up from ever having a normal relationship. He…" Chase swallowed. "He used to hit my mother, did I ever tell you that?"

Her chest squeezed with sympathy. "No, you never did."

"Well, he did. Eventually killed her, too."

She swallowed, wishing she could wrap her arms around him and ease his pain.

"And I…" He made an exasperated sound. "I… Hell, I don't have anything to give a woman, Zoey."

"That's not true," she murmured. "You gave me so much, all those years ago."

"I gave you comfort." Chase sighed. "We couldn't have had anything more. You always deserved better than me, Zoey. You deserved a man who could open himself up to you, give you his entire heart. That's…that's not me."

Zoey opened her mouth to protest—why was it that men always thought they knew what you needed?—but it was too late. Chase had already walked out of the room.


	13. Chapter 13

Lying in the twin bed in Zoey's guest room, Chase was wide awake when he heard the soft footsteps in the hallway. He knew she'd come, even hoped she would, yet as the creak of the bedroom door opening echoed in the dark, silent room, his chest tightened with despair.

"Chase, are you awake?"

He closed his eyes, not because he was pretending to sleep, but because he knew the second his gaze landed on her, it would be all over.

"Chase?"

He managed to find his voice. "Go back to bed, Zoey."

Opening his eyes, he saw that rather than turning and walking out the door, she was hobbling forward on her injured ankle. She paused at the foot of the bed, gripping the edge to balance herself. A thin gray T-shirt covered her body, outlining her curves and brushing over her thighs. Her blonde hair slid over her shoulders and rested just above her breasts, each strand begging for his fingers, pleading to be touched, stroked. She looked like an angel. A beautiful, blonde-haired angel, innocent and dangerously seductive at the same time.

"You shouldn't be walking around on that ankle," he muttered.

"It doesn't hurt as much anymore." There was a small pause. "Do you really want me to go?" she finally murmured, her voice soft and melodic, as enticing as the sweet voices of the sirens who'd once lured sailors to their deaths.

"Yes," he choked out.

He saw her swallow, saw the look of disappointment in her gleaming eyes. "All right."

She turned, and the way the thin cotton grazed over her firm backside made his throat go dry.

"Zoey."

She stopped. "Yes?"

"Don't go."

Oh, Christ, he was a fool. A goddamned fool.

She turned around and approached the bed again, this time walking around the side and sitting at the edge. So close to him, just a few inches away. He wanted to touch her, to bury his face in her soft hair and inhale her scent.

He forced himself to lie flat on his back, to keep his hands to either side of him, and his gaze fixed on the ceiling above. He couldn't look at her. He knew what would happen if he did.

"I came in here to tell you something," she said.

He felt her gaze on him, felt her eyes penetrating his skin, setting it on fire. "What did you want to tell me?" he said in a hoarse voice.

"That you're wrong."

She grew silent, and he wondered if she would continue. Hoped that she would. The quiet lull lasted for so long he feared she might have left the room. But he could feel her weight on the bed, hear her soft breathing and knew she was still there.

After a moment, he forced himself to turn his head and meet her eyes. "I'm wrong?" he finally echoed.

"You said you had nothing to give to me."

He took a breath. "I don't."

"And I say you're wrong." Her hand reached out to touch his chest, and he nearly groaned aloud. "You do have something to give."

Ignoring the way her hand swirled over his collarbone, he uttered, "What?"

"Yourself. That's what you can give me."

...

Zoey searched Chase's face for a reaction, any reaction, but he just lay there, his face expressionless, his features taut. This was her opportunity to go. To get up, leave the room and forget she'd ever been there. Yet she couldn't will her body to move.

She'd been lying in bed for hours before finally coming to him, unable to sleep thanks to the battle raging in her head, a duel between desire and uncertainty.

Hadn't she decided she and Chase had no future?

But...he'd finally opened up to her. He'd never been so candid with her before, and she was stunned by the personal details he'd revealed as he'd sat by the bathtub. He'd never told her about his dad before, and now that she knew, his reluctance to get involved made a lot of sense. Chase was scared.

Lowering her gaze, she glanced down at the flower-patterned sheets covering his body. Well, not his entire body. His chest, that glorious muscular chest, was exposed.

With trembling fingers, she swept her hand across his chest, brushing over his flat nipples, which hardened at her touch. Seeing that he wasn't objecting, she dipped her head and pressed her lips to his smooth skin. Exhilaration swept over her as she planted soft kisses up his chest, stopping only to sample his collarbone, his neck, until her head loomed over his, her lips hovering inches from his mouth.

Her pulse quickened as she lowered her head. The second her lips brushed his in a feather light kiss, she nearly came apart. The five o'clock shadow around his mouth tickled her chin, making her want to smile and moan at the same time. He exuded raw masculinity, lying there beneath her. She'd kissed other men since that first kiss with Chase, but nothing compared to the warmth of Chase's mouth, to the feel of his hot lips against hers.

She deepened the kiss, teasing his mouth open with her tongue, nibbling on his lower lip, biting it with her teeth. She whimpered when his warm tongue thrust out, meeting hers in a swirling duel that left her breathless.

And then he pulled back, and she saw the fire in his eyes. "You should leave," he murmured. "Before it's too late to stop this."

"I don't want to stop it," she murmured back.

His eyes danced with amusement. "You're too damn stubborn for your own good."

"I know." And then she wiggled her lower body against his, and saw his amusement transform into need.

"If you stay..." His tone was warning.

"If I stay, what? What will happen if I stay?" Her eyes presented a challenge.

"I'll rip off that T-shirt and cover your body with mine"

Raw anticipation consumed her. "Then I choose to stay."


	14. Chapter 14

From the cover of the woods, Satan Kuyper focused his binoculars on Zoey Brook's house, anticipation rising up his spine until he shivered. The house was dark, but he knew Zoey and the cop were inside. He'd seen Matthews show up earlier, both startled and pleased to see that familiar face.

Two birds with one stone, the voice in his head said gleefully.

Oh, yes. What a coup this was. Not only would he punish the daughter of Delia's murderer, but he could get rid of the bastard who'd put him behind bars, too. Earlier, Kuyper had watched as the detective walked the perimeter, gun in hand, with that slobbering golden Lab trailing at his feet. Matthews had seemed satisfied that the area was secure. He'd walked the outskirts of the woods, too, but hadn't ventured any deeper, coming nowhere close to where Kuyper had been hiding.

As midnight rolled around, Kuyper had changed position, now mere yards from Zoey's backyard. Soon. Soon he would make his move.

As if someone up above agreed it was time to take action, the back door of the house swung open. The detective's silhouette filled the doorway, and that idiotic dog bounded onto the deck. Perfect.

The cop's chest was bare, and for a moment Kuyper wondered if Matthews was doing a lot more than guarding Zoey Brooks. Mixing business with pleasure, perhaps? Shame this would be the last night he indulged in either, that son of a bitch.

Matthew's dog was prowling the back lawn, sniffing at the grass. The mutt finally found a patch of grass he seemed to like, then lifted his hind leg and did his business. The cop called something from the porch, but before the dog could return to its owner, Kuyper let out a whistle, so soft only the dog could hear it.

Sure enough, the Lab tilted his head and turned around, peering at the dark forest with intrigue. The cop said something else, but the dog was already scurrying across the unfenced backyard, picking up speed when Kuyper whistled again.

Kuyper heard the bushes rustle, smiling at the sound of twigs snapping under the dog's paws. A moment later, a golden-brown head popped out of a bush. The dog let out a loud bark at the sight of Kuyper.

Kuyper's smile widened. "Let the games begin," he said as he slowly drew his knife from the sheath on his belt.

…

Standing on the patio, Chase still couldn't decide if he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life. A part of him couldn't believe that he'd slept with her. That after two years, he'd finally given in to the desire he felt for Zoey.

Since she'd fallen asleep in his arms, her blonde hair fanned across his chest, he'd been asking himself what now? Where did they go from here?

The answers continued to elude him, and not even the damp night air could clear his head. The rain had stopped, but the storm in his head wouldn't dim. He rubbed his temples, wondering if he should wake up Zoey so they could talk about what just happened, but then he heard Rocky bark and his guard shot up twenty feet.

Instantly, his hand lowered to the gun he'd tucked in the small of his back after he'd slipped on his jeans and left Zoey sleeping in the guest room. Rocky's bark could only mean two things—either the dog had gotten stuck in a bush (which Chase wouldn't put past him) or there was something out there in the woods.

Something…or someone.

Gripping his weapon with both hands, Chase crossed the lawn, the wet grass tickling his bare feet. When he reached the edge of the forest he stopped, listening. A beat of silence, and then a canine cry of pain rang out, echoing in the dark night. Dread seized his gut, causing him to slowly move forward through the brush.

He didn't call out for Rocky, not wanting to reveal his location in case the dog wasn't out there alone. When he stepped into a small clearing surrounded with thick pines, his heart nearly stopped. The golden Lab lay on the dirt, curled on his side and whimpering in pain. Even in the darkness, Chase made out the streak of blood on Rocky's hind leg. Other than Rocky, the clearing was empty, but Chase couldn't fight the wariness climbing up his chest like a vine.

"Hey, boy," he murmured, slowing approaching the wounded animal. "Let me look at that leg, Roc."

He knelt down, still holding the gun in his right hand, while his left reached down to inspect Rocky's injury. Rocky stared at him with wide eyes. Was that pain or fear? Chase's instincts were humming, pulse pounding out a beat that screamed danger, but there was no evidence of another human being in the clearing.

Until he studied the cut on Rocky's leg.

Adrenaline pumped through his blood. The cut…it was one clean slash. Not the kind of cut you got from a branch, or a fall. It had come from a knife.

Chase shot to his feet at the exact instant he heard the footsteps from behind. He raised his gun, but a fraction of a second too late.

Before he could blink, something heavy smashed into his head, and as stars danced in front of his eyes, he felt the knife slicing into his side. Agony smashed into him, making him keel over. And then everything went black.


	15. Chapter 15

Zoey awoke at the sound of the guest room door creaking open. Yawning, she rolled over to her side. "Where'd you go?" she murmured, reaching up to wipe the sleep from her eyes.

Chase was nothing more than a dark silhouette in the doorway, and she smiled in the darkness, thinking of the incredible lovemaking that had lulled her into peaceful slumber. So much for giving up on him. Totally impossible, she realized now. She loved Chase Matthews too much to ever give up. She'd always loved him.

He didn't say a word as he stepped toward the bed. She experienced a flicker of panic. Oh God, was he going to tell her this was a mistake again? Leave her the way he'd left two years ago?

She sat up slowly, pulling the sheet with her to cover her breasts, then said, "Chase. Come back to bed. Please."

Still he stood there, silent, nothing but a shadow in the darkness.

And then he stepped into a sliver of moonlight that sliced through the crack in the curtains, and his face was illuminated for one brief moment.

Zoey gasped.

Satan Kuyper. The man who'd murdered her parents was standing at the foot of her bed, holding a…knife. Oh God, it was the same knife in her painting. Same curved blade, same horrifyingly sharp tip. Fear streaked through her like a bolt of lightning, followed by a jolt of adrenaline that had her jumping out of the bed. Pain shot through her ankle, but she ignored it, knowing the pain Kuyper wanted to cause her was a thousand times worse.

"Don't bother," Kuyper rasped, smiling at her. "You're not going anywhere."

"Like hell I'm not," she shot back.

She eyed the door. Could she get to it? She was no athlete, but she was strong. Lifting heavy canvases did great things to a girl's arms, and the self-defense classes she'd taken two years ago still resonated with her.

Careless of her nudity and ignoring the throb in her ankle, she charged forward. Kuyper was prepared for the attack, but like most men he assumed she'd go for the groin, which caused him to lower his hands and gave her the opportunity to unleash a right hook into his jaw. He grunted at the impact, and that second of surprise was all she needed to make it to the doorway.

Heart crashing against her ribs, she tore down the stairs, aware of Kuyper's footsteps on her tail. Where the hell was Chase? What had Kuyper done to him? How had he—

Pain shot into her scalp as her hair was tugged from behind, nearly yanking her head from her body. Her ankle twisted beneath her, making her cry out in agony and sending her stumbling back against Kuyper's chest.

"Where do you think you're going?" Kuyper whispered, pressing his lips close to her ear. "I'm not finished with you, Zoey."

She pounded him with her fists, biting, trying to get out of his iron–solid grip. And when that didn't work, she let out a scream that he quickly silenced by slapping his palm over her mouth.

Kuyper sounded annoyed. "Really, Zoey, stop struggling and accept your fate."

"Never," she hissed out, sinking her teeth into the hand he'd clamped over her mouth.

Kuyper swore loudly, then slapped her across the face, so hard her head jerked back. "I'm really going to enjoy punishing you," he spat out. "You and your family…nothing but goddamn trouble. Murdering bastards, the lot of you."

"My dad didn't kill your daughter," she choked out.

Another backhand to her face. This one split her lip and brought the salty taste of blood into her mouth. "He butchered her on that operating table!"

Yanking her by the hair again, Kuyper dragged her into the kitchen, the steel blade of his knife pressed against her throat.

"A daughter for a daughter," he muttered, and though he was behind her and she couldn't see his face, she could hear the smirk in his voice.

"You're crazy," she whispered. "Certifiably cra—"

Twain lifted his arm and slammed the back of her skull with the handle of his knife. Right before she lost consciousness, she heard him say, "This is for you, Delia"


	16. Chapter 16

Chase came to with a ragged groan, his vision so blurry he couldn't make out a damn thing. But he sure as hell felt the wet tongue lapping at his face. "Rocky?" he mumbled, blinking wildly. "What the hell are you—"

In a flash, his memory returned. Kuyper. Kuyper had hit him over the head and sliced him in the side. Chase lowered his hand to the wound, grimacing when he found his skin sticky with blood. Kuyper had gone for the kidney, probably hoping to damage the organ so Chase would bleed out. Too bad Chase didn't have a kidney there. Damn thing had been removed 7 years ago after his dad put a bullet in it.

Wincing from the pain, he managed to move to a sitting position. Wet dirt stuck to his back, and he noticed it had started raining again. Next to him Rocky whimpered, attempting to move his injured leg, but Chase quickly reached out to still the hurt animal. "Don't move, boy. I'm going to get you some help, okay?"

Rocky let out a whine, then lowered his head to the ground.

Fighting the waves of pain and nausea, Chase stumbled to his feet. He glanced around him, looking for his gun, and found no sign of it. Kuyper had taken it. Surprise, surprise.

His throat tightened with fury. Zoey. He had to get to Zoey.

"Stay," he ordered Rocky, who tried getting up as Chase took a few steps forward.

The walk back to the house was difficult, what with the concussion he was certain he had and the blood pouring out of his side. Cold raindrops hit his bare chest, and his feet were covered with mud by the time he reached the porch.

Chase hesitated by the door, suddenly terrified to go inside. What if he was too late? He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. What if Kuyper had killed Zoey?

Pure anguish tore through him at the thought. No. No. Zoey was not dead. He would not lose her to that sadistic psycho.

Fingers trembling, he slowly opened the front door and stepped into the dark hallway. The light in the kitchen was on, and the yellow glow made his temple aches. Lord, he could barely see straight. Could barely walk, too. He was in no shape to fight off a killer.

Humming. He suddenly heard low male humming drifting out of the kitchen. Kuyper was still here. Hope soared inside him like a helium balloon. Oh Christ, please let her still be alive.

Chase's bare feet didn't make a sound as he slowly walked down the hall, leaving streaks of mud on the hardwood floor. He pressed his body against the wall next to the kitchen doorway, took a silent breath then peeked inside.

Kuyper was hovering over the kitchen table, back to Chase.

And Zoey…Chase's heart stopped beating. Zoey was lying on the table, Blonde hair spilling over the edge, eyes closed. Relief poured into him when he noticed the soft rise and fall of her chest, but she was dressed now, with some black shorts and his shirt that he had left during their passional Encounter they had just hours ago. The madman looming over her, sent rage pumping through his blood.

Kuyper, meanwhile, continued to hum as he…oh Jesus, he was dragging the knife up and down Zoey's body.

Chase immediately knew the killer's intentions. Kuyper was going to do to Zoey what he believed Zoey's father had done to his daughter.

He was going to cut her open.

Chase fought a wave of nausea, swallowing the urge to throw up.

No.

No way in hell was he going to lose her. He loved her, goddamn it! He loved her sass and her laughter and the way she made him feel anything was possible, that even a screwed-up kid raised by a wife-beater could have a shot at happiness.

And he was not going to lose her.

Chase charged into the kitchen.


	17. Chapter 17

Kuyper quickly realizing that Chase was running towards him, he lunged at him. Chase dodged to the side and delivered a sharp kick to his knee. He grunted and fell against hard wooden floor. He scrambled up, rubbing his arm, eyes full of hate.

His expression changed from loathing to amusement. Chase knew he had made a fatal mistake. He searched for something to grab, something to fight with, but the pain of his wound was making it difficult.

"Agent Matthews! Glad for you to join us". Kuyper noticed that he was leaning on the wall, his face in pain, as he held his Wound. He smirked deviously.

"I see me going after your kidney, didn't work, but at least you won't be able to stop me from killing Zoey". Kuyper said.

Chase was looking at Kuyper with rage, But Something toward the marble-topped counter caught his attention.

Zoey.

She was gaining conssiones. She sat herself up, touching the back of her head. She then looked back, where Kuyper was talking to Chase.

He was so focused looking at Zoey, that he didn't saw him coming towards him. Kuyper, suddenly pushed him against the wall, and his large hands were going for his throat.

Chase gasped and tried to get his hands off him, but he only squeezed harder. "I've had enough of this crap you bitch! You think your going to save her again!? You think she's going to get out of this one!?". Kuyper yelled.

"Bastard!" He choked out.

With a sudden blast of strength, Kuyper slid out of his iron grip and brought his knee up. Chase squealed when she made contact with his wound.

"You like that Uh?". Kuyper asked him with a grin.

Zoey stumbled to her feet and dove toward the men. As Chase slid down the wall, Kuyper got on top of him, now landing a nasty punch to Chase's jaw. Zoey saw the blood pouring from Chase's nose and her heart thumped in fear. Ignoring the pain of her head, she grabbed a mallet from the counter, then staggered forward.

Kuyper was shouting "This is none of your business...". But he felt some footsteps coming toward him, so he turned and grabbed the Mallet that Zoey had on her hands. He stood up and took the Mallet out of her hands.

"What do You think you're doing?".

She took a step back. Her gaze darted around, searching for something she could grab on to, a weapon she could use against him.

She then saw the gun that was by the kitchen sink. She then looked back at Kuyper and without another word she rushed towards it. He ran after her and at the same time, both of them got to the gun.

"Give me it!". Kuyper pulled it from her hands, but she held on to it tightly.

"No! Your not going to hurt anyone else!". Zoey yelled as she pulled the gun towards her. But he was stronger. He got the gun out of her hands and she stumbled back bending her ankle

He smiled and pointed the gun towards her.

"This is not how I planned to kill you, but I guess this is the same thing". Kuyper chucked.

"Okay! You want to kill me!? Then go ahead! I'm right here! Pull the trigger!". Zoey yelled as she closed her eyes. She waited for the bullet to painfully go through her. The bullet that was going to kill her for good, just to save Chase. But the only thing she heard was a grunt, and a person falling by her feet.

She open her eyes and saw Chase standing above Kuyper. He dropped the broom stick on hand and with the other was putting pressure into her wound. He looked as he was about to pass out and he almost did as he dropped to the floor.

There was a deafening silence, Zoey went to him and knelt beside him. "Chase! Are you okay?" she burst out, helping him raise himself up. "Oh, God. Did you kill him?"

Wiping his bloody nose with his arm, Chase placed his other hand on Kuyper's throat and checked for a pulse. "No. He's alive."

With a groan, Chase took his hand off his wound and both of them saw that he was bleeding out. She noticed that his breathing was becoming weaker and weaker.

"Chase, let me help you...". Zoey ran to the sink and grabbed the curtain. She then went back to Chase and wrapped it around him, covering his wound. She did a knot to keep pressured on it, making Chase groan.

"I'm sorry". She apologized. She then began stroking his hair back.

"It's all right," he said softly. "You're all right now. That's what matters." Chase told her.

His green eyes slowly fading away... His life was slipping out her hands... She was losing him.

"Promise me... That you'll never... Put yourself in danger again... I don't want to lose you... Ever". Chase told her and she wiped a tear off her eyes.

"I won't, but you need to hang on. I don't want to lose you either". Zoey heard the police sirens as well as the ambulance.

"Help is here! Hang on Chase!". Zoey shouted as Chase closed his eyes fainting.

The door burst open and agent Barrett burst in with dozen of police men behind him revising the crime scene. The paramedics came in with a gurney and quickly approached Chase and Zoey.

Michael who was knelt down trying to get a pulse from Chase looked up at the paramedics and nodded. They began to place him on the gurney.

He turned to see Zoey.

"I need you to come with me and testify". Michael told her.

"But-". Zoey saw that Chase was taken outside and into the ambulance.

"After you finish, I'll take you to the hospital, but first we need to get this over with first". Michael grabbed her gently by the arm and guided her outside of the house. It was raning, Michael opened his umbrella and leaded her to his police car.


	18. Chapter 18

It took nearly four hours before Chase was finally able to leave the hospital, though if it were up to Zoey he wouldn't have left at all. Why did men always have to play the tough guy? Chase's concussion worried her, but apparently to him it was no biggie.

Sitting in the backseat of Detective Michael Barret's unmarked sedan, Zoey's gaze wandered over Chase's face. His eyes were closed, but she knew he was awake. She wished he would open his eyes and look at her, but he'd barely spared her a glance since all the chaos.

Since her house was officially a crime scene, Detective Barrett was taking them to Chase's apartment. Rocky was going to spend the night at the vet, and Zoey knew the dog would be getting the royal treatment over there. Back at her house, she'd never seen so many people fawning over an injured animal. The paramedics had fawned over her, too, as had the doctors who'd stitched her up in the hospital. But it was Chase she worried about. He'd lost a lot of blood, not to mention taken a hard knock to the head.

But he insisted he was okay. Of course.

"Make sure to wake him up every hour or so," Detective Barrett said when he pulled up in front of Chase's low-rise building. "If he's slow to wake, throwing up or seems confused, call me and I'll bring him back to the hospital."

Zoey nodded. "I'll take care of him."

The detective rounded the vehicle and opened Chase's door, rolling his eyes when his partner began to complain about not needing help. "I'm helping you upstairs whether you like it or not, macho man," Michael said.

In Chase's apartment, after she and Michael had gotten him settled in bed, Zoey stood in Chase's living room frowning at the bare walls and sparse furniture. The room needed color. Life. Chase needed it.

Frown deepening, she limped down the narrow hallway. Her ankle still throbbed, now even more after her struggle with Kuyper. Slowly she entered Chase's bedroom and, like every other room in the house, this one was as cozy as a jail cell.

Chase's eyes flickered open at the sound of her footsteps. He tried to sit up, then groaned and touched the bandage at his side.

"Don't move," she said in irritation.

"But—"

"In fact, don't even talk." She tightly crossed her arms over chest. "I want you to listen to me, okay?"

"Okay," he said roughly.

She paused for a moment, searching for the right words, but there was only one way to say it so she blurted out, "You need me."

Surprise filled his gorgeous green eyes.

Zoey drew in a breath and continued. "You need me, Chase. You need me to fix up this boring, empty apartment, and you need me to make you smile—you really don't smile enough—and you definitely need me to love you. There, I said it. I love you. I always have, and I always will, and I'm getting damn tired of you telling me you don't have anything to give. Because that's bull. You give me joy and comfort and love and—damn it, why are you looking at me like that?"


	19. Chapter 19

Chase glanced at Zoey in amusement, wishing he had a camera so he could capture the outraged look on her beautiful face. He couldn't stop a chuckle.

Her outrage grew. "And now you're laughing at me!"

"Only because you're saying everything I'd planned to say to you."

She swallowed. "What?"

"I was going to do it in the morning, when I was a little more coherent, but…" The corner of his mouth lifted. "You're right. I do need you. I…" His voice trailed.

"What, Chase? You what?"

"I love you, Zoey."

Chase had never said those three little words to anyone, but the second they exited his mouth he knew without a doubt he was doing—and saying—the right thing. He loved Zoey Brooks. Always had, always would. And it was time to stop being a stubborn jackass and claim what was in front of him.

Almost losing her to Kuyper tonight had snapped a whole lot of sense into him. Sure, his childhood had been beyond crappy. His mother's death and father's imprisonment had screwed him up. Sure, he was a workaholic. He had two friends—his partner and his dog. And he would probably always have a hard time talking about his emotions.

But that didn't mean he couldn't allow himself to be happy. And this beautiful blondhead standing at the foot of his bed…she made him happy.

"You love me?" Zoey echoed softly, a slow smile stretching her lush mouth.

"More than anything." He sighed. "I fought it for years. I thought…you deserved more."

She moved to the side of the bed, sinking down on the mattress and reaching out to stroke his stubble-covered chin. "I deserve you," she corrected. "I want you."

His throat tightened with emotion. "Then you have me. You have all of me"

Hesitation flickered in her gaze. "I'm not too young for you?"

Chase chuckled. "I'm not too old for you?".

She rolled her eyes. "Your 25! 2 years isn't that big of a difference." Zoey smirked. "Especially considering you act like you're five half the time. I've never met anyone more stubborn than you—I mean, you fought your feelings for almost 3 years. Jerk."

A laugh rolled out of his chest, bringing a pang of pain to his side. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I'm sorry I pushed you away for all those years."

Zoey leaned down and brushed her lips over his. "As long as you're done pushing, you're forgiven."

As she gingerly slid up next to him and pressed her head against his shoulder, Chase experienced a rush of pleasure so intense his vision clouded with tears. God, he loved feeling her body against his, loved the scent of her hair, the sound of her laughter. He loved everything about Zoey.

"I'm so happy it's finally over," she murmured, her warm breath heating his bare skin. "Kuyper is dead. You, me, Rocky, we're all fine. I keep thinking how differently tonight could've ended, if…"

If he hadn't regained consciousness in time. If Zoey hadn't snatched the gun before Kuyper. God, he could've lost her tonight.

He wrapped one arm around her slender shoulder and pulled her closer. "I'm glad it's over, too," he murmured.

She lifted her head, those gorgeous brown eyes searching his face. "But it's not over for us, is it?"

With a soft smile, he brushed his fingers over her lips and murmured, "Oh, no, sweetheart. For us, it's just beginning."

 **THE END**


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